Ryan yanked his arm back sharply, catching the outer edges of his hand on the bars of his cage. He pulled twice more, and twice more could not bring his hand inside.

Shit!

He turned his hand ninety degrees and then had it safely back within the embrace of his arms.

He held his breath. Where had the voice come from? It seemed to be its location hidden by the darkness. He closed his eyes and attempted to recall the sound, as if mentally recreating it would give clues to its originator.

'It's not safe.'

A young voice. A girl. Soft, with the edges shaved by suffering. She'd been standing forward of him, to the right of his outstretched hand.

Questions anyone?

Who was she? What was she warning about? The lurking monsters? The monsters that didn't lurk, but came in and dragged people out? How was she out there and not in somewhere like his cage? Why was she free to talk about? To speak?

Fucking questions with no answers. He could hardly ask Doc Bradley. If she answered, he'd be worse off than he was already. OK, so he'd ask the owner of the voice. If she could speak, then he must be able to, too.

"Ssshhh," she said. "Don't speak. You don't really want to. It's not safe."

Of course not. He should have known. So, he had to listen but remain silent. It would be difficult, considering the number of things he needed to say. To ask. He had no choice, though. It wasn't safe.

How did she know he was going to say something? That was an easy one. How could he not respond to her voice?

"It's going to be OK," she said. "Don't worry. Do what they tell you to, and they won't hurt you. Not too much, anyway. Not like they did to m..." She didn't finish the word and didn't need to. Her meaning was clear. "Don't upset them."

Ryan was bursting to speak. The words bubbled inside him like Mentos dropped into a bottle of cola. He hoped he could avoid erupting.

He nodded, as pointless as it was in the darkness.

Still...

"Good. I have to go now. Be safe, ok?"

He nodded again. She was gone, then, he knew. He could sense the space she'd occupied was now empty and felt abandoned. Undoubtedly, similar cages holding similar prisoners filled the room, but he was alone. They were beyond his reach, in so many ways.

She had been there, though. She'd taken the time to speak to him, something that must have put her in danger. Perhaps, They had underestimated the girl and were less than diligent in their imprisoning of her.

He would discover how she managed it. She'd visit him again, and he would figure out a way to communicate with her.

Until that point, he would... what? Wait? What else was there to do? Become one with the darkness? Contemplate his navel, regardless of whether he could see it? His options were dramatically limited. He couldn't really pace his cage without the ability to fully stand, and the floor was too hard to sit on for any significant time.

"It's not safe."

You don't say. He was so pleased she'd told him, or he might not have been aware.

Wow, was he always so sarcastic and ungrateful? If so, he disliked himself already. It wasn't the girl's fault either of them were there. If she had found a way out of her own cage, then good for her. If she'd found a way out, then so could, and would, he.

Somehow.

Ryan listened to the interruptions in the silence. There was the sound of his own breathing, but not of anyone else. The cells were close enough that he should have been able to hear something. Their breaths. Their shuffles. An odd cough or sneeze. The thought of it made invisible hairs or dust mites feel as if they were tickling his fine nostril hairs, making him want to sneeze too. He held his nose, then wiped it on his fingers. It was dry, and the sensation went.

But that wasn't all.

Dr Bradley had stated he'd been there for a week, or there'd been a week since their last session. That meant he'd been there for longer, so where were his whiskers? His chin and cheeks were smooth, as if he'd only shaved a few hours before. That was impossible, unless she'd lied, which was highly likely. He had no sense of the passing of any time period. Not a lengthy one, anyway. Maybe he'd only been there since that morning.

No. She was telling the truth about that if nothing else. Ryan could tell from her tone and her expression. He couldn't remember anything about his life before being there, so there was every possibility his memory was similarly messed up over his time since. Perhaps he could only recall certain periods of wakefulness.

So, what happened during all those others?

How many times had he met Bradley or the girl?

It was pointless dwelling on any of it. There would be no immediate answers. All he could do was... what? Wait? Yes, that was it. Just wait. Eventually, something would happen. He'd see the doctor again. The girl. Someone from one of the other cages would make a move and bring a response.

Any of those could give the break he wanted. Waiting, though it felt like a whole lot of not much at all, was at least something. So, he did.

The hours dragged through the darkness as if wading through a swamp, desperately trying to progress whilst battling the sensation of being sucked under. Ryan fought, and succumbed to, sleep for periods that stretched from moments to almost a day. When awake, he stared into the nothing, willing his mind to become it.

What was the point, he wondered, in trying to push his mind out or dig into a past erased? Both were ineffective, and neither was productive.

While sleeping, his mind attempted to build bridges across an abyss stretching in every direction. Synapses threw neurons about chaotically in the hope one might land in just the right place to trigger a memory. Once resurrected, it could prompt the rebirth of all that was lost.

His lack of hunger faded, to be replaced with regular protestations from his stomach, complaining about the absence of sustenance. His thirst grew too, with his mouth being so dry, not even saliva could squeeze itself from its glands.

Somehow, he didn't feel weak. He should, shouldn't he? No food or drink should make the reserves of energy ebb from him, leaving him unable to move or fight, or care. It wasn't. Ryan still felt as strong as he probably ever had. Not that it was particularly strong at all. He didn't feel able to bend the bars enclosing him, but he should be able to manage a dozen or more push-ups without breaking into too much of a sweat.

Doing so would only increase the need for food, thoughts of which were invading his brain more as time moved on. He did his best to force them away. Dwelling on it would only make it worse, only, what else did he have to dwell on? Solitude? His mind? The potential murder of rule breakers? Bradley and her games? A mysterious girl?

He tried.

It didn't work.

Food. Fooood. A steak. A burger. Fish and chips from The... oh, he almost had it... Salt and vinegar crisps in a sandwich. What was it called. He loved them. It was his favourite snack.

...

A...

...

A hedgehog sandwich!

He loved to crunch down on a hedgehog sandwich! He'd empty the full packet of crisps onto a buttered slice of bread, then place another slice on top and press down. He'd hope some crisps would fall out, giving him a few to eat afterwards but, once the sandwich was cut in half, he'd be in snackilicious heaven.

Was... Was that a memory? He tried to think. To probe. To envision himself eating one, ignoring the fact it would only increase his appetite. He thought hard, trying to push his mind through whatever obstacle was blocking it, to the point he was giving himself a headache, but no image came. Just the taste. Ryan wanted the picture in his head, not just his mouth. Whether as a memory or just from the conjurings of his imagination, he wanted to see himself with the sandwich in his hands.

He couldn't. However much he tried, nothing appeared.

It was frustrating. No, maddening! And the inability to picture him eating that, or anything else, it seemed, only made the need to do so stronger.

His stomach growled at him.

Come on! An image! That's all! If I can see it, I can taste it, and I can pretend it's real!

"I know!!"

"Sshhhh!"

Shit!

It was too late. He'd spoken. The door opened. The light blazed. The Taser sparked in eager anticipation.

They were coming for him.